How Murdoc Got His Red Eye
by SaoirseMC
Summary: Its rather sad, inspired by a true story, minus the eye part. Short.


Apparently childhood is the best days of your life, and why not? It's a swirling mixture of ice cream, slimy things and loving parents. Swinging on a tire is a thrill like no other and every child treasures a nighttime story, or so you thought. But what if there was no ice cream, no loving parents and the nighttime stories consisted of warning of beatings and starvation, resulting in nightmares? It happens to some kids, and more often that not, those kids don't enjoy their childhood. Home is a prison and school is freedom. For an abused child, it's a place where family members can't get you, where you can get food and where people treat you like you're a human being. Not a nobody. Not an _it. _

"Murdoc Niccals, you wipe your shoes outside this instant!"  
It put a smile on the 10 year old's mouth to be called by his name, unlike at home. At home he was Boy, or The Boy. He sheepishly looked up at Miss Matthews and she rolled her eyes at him, a smile creeping on her own pink lips. She was beautiful, was Miss Matthews. Her golden hair flopped about in tight curls and she wore different pretty earrings everyday. Murdoc enjoyed guessing what colour they would be, or whether they would be made of metal or beads.  
"Its raining outside, Miss, the ground is muddy."  
"I know dear, but we don't want a muddy classroom, do we? Everyone would be sliding about!"  
Murdoc chortled and wiped his trainers on the ground. They were old and had a few holes in the sole. Murdoc often felt like he had holes in _his_ soul.   
"Are you coming in, Murdoc?" asked Miss Matthews, peering at him kindly.  
He nodded, quickly brushed long black hair out of his eyes and rushed to his seat.

Grace Matthews was a caring woman. She was unable to have children herself and so teaching seemed the next best thing. Children surprised her everyday with their intelligence, they made her laugh, made her days happy, but one child made her upset, but it was not his fault. Murdoc was 7 when Grace started working at the small primary school in Stoke-On-Trent and apparently no other teachers had noticed that this small scrawny boy often limped or had a black eye. When asked about it she was always given the same replies "I slipped and fell because I'm clumsy" or the more popular "I'm a bad boy and I get what I deserve."  
He said it like he was reading it off a piece of paper, his tanned face blank and his dark eyes unblinking.

"Murdoc? Its time for you to go home now."  
Murdoc's gaze snapped up from his book to Miss Matthew's pretty face.  
"Oh…ok." He grimaced and put his bag on his back.  
"How do you get home?"  
"I run, Miss Matthews. Keeps me fit."  
"But don't you live a mile away?"  
"Nearly two, Miss."  
"Let me give you a lift, I live not too far from you."  
Murdoc glanced at the classroom door and then back to his teacher's beaming face. "Ok then."  
Miss Mathew's car was very small, but it smelled nice inside. Like butterscotch. Murdoc loved butterscotch. He told Miss Matthews this and she laughed. He liked her laugh. It sounded like tinkling bells.  
"Miss Matthews, could you drop me off here?" he asked her.  
"But your house is the next street!"  
"I know, I want to walk to it. I don't think my dad would be very happy if he knew I took a lift from you."  
"Why ever not?" asked his teacher, pulling over.  
"I….um…I'm supposed to run. Thank you for the lift, Miss Matthews."  
Without another word, Murdoc clambered out of the car and began running at top speed towards his street. The Niccals residence was house number 6, but someone had painted an extra two 6's next to the metal one. Murdoc didn't understand this, but his father told him it was because Murdoc was a horrible child who was to be taken by Satan.   
He entered his house, tiptoeing across the bare floor towards the staircase. His small fists were clenched as he made his way up the steps. _The third and fourth step creak_, he reminded himself. He looked up and to his horror, saw his brother at the top step. Murdoc's eyes became wide and fearful and he mouthed "no" to his older brother. Hannibal smirked and opened his mouth.  
"DAAAAAD! THE BOY'S HOME!"  
The effect was catastrophic. The man that occupied the couch almost 24/7 leaped up and ran to the stairs. Murdoc froze, his fists clenched so tight that the object he held in the right one was hurting his palms.   
"You tryin' ta get away from me, boy?" The voice was deep and growling, slightly slurred.  
Murdoc knew what to do. He turned around and came back down the stairs. He had made it to the fifth step this time, a new record. He looked up at his father. Jacob was a tall man, like Murdoc he had long black hair that hung straight and shiny from grease. He had a long nose and large bags under his eyes and he could scare anyone by just looking at them. Murdoc's legs were shaking, because he knew what was going to happen next.  
"What's that in yer 'and? You got food? You 'oldin' out on us, boy?"  
Murdoc shook his head and put his hand behind his back.  
"Its nuttin', I swear."  
Hannibal was at his hand before he could move. "E's got summin' pretty, dad!"  
"NO! ITS MINE!" screeched Murdoc, but his brother held fast to his hand behind his back and pulled the item out of his grip.  
"Dad, look dad, it's an earring, a lady's earring!"  
Jacob Niccals snatched it away from Hannibal and peered at it. "You been stealing, boy?"  
"I found it! Its mine!" shouted Murdoc, making to grab the earring. It was bad enough that he had stolen from Miss Matthews, but to have that precious item taken away from him? He couldn't let it happen.  
"You disgustin' little child! Where did you get this from?" yelled his father, rattling the dangling earring.  
"I found it – I found it in the playground!"  
"You stole it! You stole it from some poor lady! She'll be crying now, you stupid selfish boy!"  
"NO! I-I found it!" Murdoc sniffed back tears, he never cried. He lunged himself at his father's fists angrily, only to be hit back against the stairs. "ITS MINE!"  
Jacob's mouth twitched and he tossed the earrings to his eldest son. "Here Hannibal, give it to yer mother."  
Hannibal grinned and ran back upstairs as fast as he could so he could come back and watch the beating. But he was to be disappointed. This time, Jacob dragged Murdoc into the upstairs bathroom. Murdoc choked back tears and sat on the toilet, bracing himself.  
"You done summin' very bad today, boy. Stealin' is in the ten commandments, you know that? Satan's gonna come get ya."  
From the room next to them he could hear his mother dote over his brother for giving her an earring. Murdoc's earring.  
His focus turned back to his father, who had a large container in his right hand and a bucket in the other.  
"You need to be punished for breaking a commandment, boy. God's angry with you, you know that?"  
Murdoc nodded. He made God angry a lot.  
"You know you gotta be punished?"  
Murdoc nodded.  
"What's that, boy?"  
"Yes, I do."  
"You been a conniving little boy."  
"I have."  
"And you have to be punished."  
"I do."  
With a grave face, Jacob filled the bucket full with the light yellow liquid. The smell reminded Murdoc of swimming pools. Jacob set the bucket in the bath.  
"Get in the bath, boy."  
Murdoc couldn't remember the last time he had had a bath. Maybe this stuff was soap? Jacob retrieved a small container from high up in the cabinet and turned to Murdoc, a faint smile on his lips now.  
"You upset your mother with your badness. What do you think of that?"  
Murdoc didn't reply. He barely saw his mum. She watched TV in her bedroom and called Hannibal in a lot for a cuddle.  
"Hey? What do you think of that?"  
"I-I'm a bad boy?" suggested Murdoc, though he knew the answer.  
"Yes you are. And because you hurt people by being horrible and stealing, you have to be punished."  
Jacob held the container at arms length and then poured a colourless liquid into the bucket. "Chlorine and ammonia boy, is the Devil's drink. You can have a taste since you'll be joining him soon. You stay in the bath until I get you, got that?"  
Murdoc nodded, slightly puzzled. His father left and he sat in the bath, perplexed. It wasn't until he took in a deep breath did he notice something wrong with the air. It smelt horrible. It made his eyes water and his throat hurt. He started gasping. What was wrong with the air? He stood up to open the window but remembered what his father had said. _Stay in the bath._ He would be hurt badly if he got out.   
But his throat hurt so badly, and his eyes were watering. But he was not crying, oh no, Murdoc Niccals had not cried since he was 6. So he lay down in the bathtub, as far from the steaming bucket as he could and closed his watering eyes.  
He didn't know how many minutes or hours went by, but he must have slept. He woke up and cried out in pain. His vision was blurry and he felt dizzy and faint. He started coughing and eventually it turned into a violent hacking cough that made him go on all fours. He looked down and saw splatters of blood mixed with mucous on the grey bathtub.  
"Dad? DAD?" He hated how desperate his voice sounded, but he was scared now.  
"I'M SORRY DAD! I'M A HORRIBLE BOY!" He was standing at the door now, pounding it desperately. "DAD! MUM?"  
"SHUT UP, BOY!" came a bellow from downstairs.  
"MY EYES!" He couldn't open them. He felt hot tears streaming down his face and he knew he was crying.   
Footsteps came pounding up the stairs. Murdoc stepped back from the door and his dad came in.  
"WHAT DID I TELL YOU?" he yelled, pointing at the bathtub.  
"My eyes, dad! They hurt!" sobbed Murdoc, fumbling blindly at his father's trousers.  
"YOU FILTHY DISGUSTING REPULSIVE BOY!"  
"Dad, dad please, it hurts!"  
"HURT? I'LL SHOW YOU HURT!"  
Murdoc felt his father grab his hair and pull him somewhere. When his breathing got worse, Murdoc realised in horror that he must be dangling over the bucket.  
"No…no please dad."  
"Open your eyes."  
"No, they hurt…please!"  
"OPEN THEM!"  
Murdoc let out a whine and forced himself to open his eyes. He cried out as the fumes hit his already sore eyes.  
"You deserve this, boy! You stole from a nice lady, you made your mother cry and its your fault we're poor! Its your fault Coalan died! Its all YOUR FAULT!"  
Murdoc cried and cried, keeping his eyes wide open. It was his fault his baby brother had died! Hadn't he been there when he had choked on the milk? He had supposed to baby-sit him! Murdoc squeezed his eyes shut, the pain was unbearable.  
"OPEN. YOUR. FUCKING. EYES!" His father hit his head, the bucket spilled and corrosive acid splashed into his left eye. Then the world went red.


End file.
